Black Wings
by Shirax
Summary: The only being on the planet older than Alucard is coming to England, and he's not very happy with the Count. OC, slight AxS. My first fanfic, yay! Reviews will be appreciated. Edit: Contest Time! Details inside.
1. Information

A/N: Okay, my first fan fiction. Please forgive any OOCness that might appear, and if you think I'm going in the wrong direction, feel free to give me a kick towards the right one. Also, I'm sorry about the first chapter being so short, subsequent chapters should be longer.

* * *

"Good evening, Father."

The Paladin spun around to face the source of the voice. He was halfway through drawing one of his blessed bayonets when he spotted him: he was a tall, thin man, wearing a plain black suit and sporting a long mane of white hair. Somehow, he had managed to enter the chapel soundlessly.

Anderson quickly re-sheathed the holy weapon, and smiled with all the sincerity he could muster.

"Good evening to you, my child. It is a strange hour to seek the word of God, but the church always has its doors open to those in need."

The stranger smiled himself, though when he spoke, he didn't sound remotely amused. "I seek words, but not from God. I need information, and you can provide me with it," he said, with a clearly American accent.

Alexander's smile faded slightly. "I believe you have mistaken me for someone else."

The individual chuckled. "I beg to differ. You are Paladin Alexander Anderson, member of the Iscariot organization. Now, please drop the charade."

Anderson's smile disappeared entirely, and his eyes narrowed behind his glasses. Slowly, one of his blades slid from his sleeve, and he gripped its handle, preparing to strike at any moment.

The intruder directed his gaze towards the holy bayonet. "Now, now, there's no need to begin the hostilities," he said. "These are hallowed grounds. It would not do to spill blood here. A man of the cloth like you should know better."

"I work for the grace of God. I'm sure He will forgive me, especially if the blood spilt belongs to a heathen," he said, and hurled the bayonet at the figure. However, in an impressive display of dexterity, the stranger snatched the blade out of the air and discarded it to the side. Although he had avoided impalement, the bayonet left a deep gash between his fingers. He then reached inside his shirt and, with a smirk upon his face, pulled out a small, silver and gold cross, its thin chain around his neck. "Heathen, you say?" he asked, as a few droplets of blood slid from the cut onto the crucifix. "That's a strong accusation. I thought my religion was the same as yours."

The Priest glared at him for a few seconds, and finally relaxed, but did not relinquish his grip on a second bayonet which he had seemingly pulled out from nowhere. "What kind of information do you seek?"

"The whereabouts of a particular being. A vampire, to be precise. You should know him. His name is Alucard."

Alexander's eyes narrowed further. "The demon? What could you possibly want with that unholy monster?"

"You could say it's a personal matter. Now, do you know his location, or not?"

"He is the Hellsing family pet, so I would expect him to be in England, at the manor. You do know where that is, don't you?" he spoke, a crazed grin now replacing the contempt upon his face.

The stranger smiled again. "Yes, indeed. Thank you, Father," he said, and turned to leave. He opened the doors and stepped into the darkness, leaving Anderson alone between the empty pews.


	2. Invading the Manor

The normally heavily guarded Hellsing manor was deserted, with a single soldier guarding the front gate.

A tall man in a black suit was walking briskly towards him, with all the typical characteristics of a tourist: clothes for the wrong season, an air of anxiousness and, most importantly, a distinct American accent when he asked the guard if he could visit the manor.

The guard at the door sniggered. "American, eh? Well, I'll say it slowly so I don't have to repeat myself: No one gets through here without clearance from Sir Hellsing. So, to put it in your language, bugger off."

The "tourist's" hand shot forward and struck the guard in the throat, leaving the man gasping for air. "I always thought that British people had better manners, specially compared to us _Americans_," he said, sarcasm and contempt mixing in his voice, "but it seems I was wrong. Well, seeing as you can't open the door for me, I'll let myself in." Having said this, he gave the lock a powerful kick, devastating it and opening the gate wide.

The intruder continued forward, leaving the suffocating guard behind. A siren wailed inside the manor, but no gun-totting soldiers came running towards him, which meant they should be on a mission.

He entered the hall unobstructed. As soon as he reached the stairs, however, there was a sudden whip-like sound, and he sidestepped to avoid one of Walter's wires.

He turned to face the man. "Walter C. Dornez, the Angel of Death," he said, eyeing the old butler in front of him, "what a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance."

Walter was surprised, but did not lower his guard. "And may I ask your name, since you already know mine?"

Michael chuckled "How rude of me. My name is Michael. That's all there is, however. I don't have a surname."

-"And what might your intentions be, Michael?"

"I'm afraid that will have to remain unknown, for now."

The old butler adjusted his gloves. "Though you are certainly the politest person to invade this manor, I cannot allow you to go any further."

Michael grinned. "Is that so? Well then, let the fight begin."

With a quick and fluid motion of his hands, Walter sent a flurry of wires after Michael, who, instead of trying to get away, ducked and weaved through the deadly attack with a speed to match the butler's own. Though he was avoiding the full brunt of the attack, Michael was in no way unscathed: a myriad of cuts and gashes appeared on his face and torso, none of them serious enough, however, to stop his relentless advance towards Walter.

Step by step Michael moved forward, until, with a sinister grin and a twist of his fingers, Walter coiled his wires around the intruder's arms and neck. Michael stopped his advance, gazing with mild interest at the razor-sharp wires cutting into his forearms.

Raising an eyebrow, he whistled and declared, "You're pretty quick."

And then, with a sudden movement, he jerked his right arm closer to his chest. Although the movement had forced the wire deeper into his flesh, the action caught Walter by surprise, and that, combined with the strong pull, put him momentarily off-balance.

Michael took advantage of the butler's unbalance to close the gap between them, and, since the wires were now slack, he managed to throw a hook with his still-intact left arm, aimed at Walter's chest, which nearly connected, but was parried by the Angel of Death at the last second. The fight degenerated into a vicious close-quarters fist fight, with Michael quickly gaining the upper hand, landing strong blows here and there, even though his right forearm now lay upon the floor, having been severed completely from his elbow.

Just as it seemed sure that the intruder would win, a feminine voice cried "Move, Walter!" and both contenders looked up to find Seras Victoria on the upper floor, aiming her Harkonnen cannon at Michael. She fired, and Walter moved sideways, his unnatural speed putting him safely out of the weapon's line of fire. The bullet speeded straight towards Michael's heart. It struck him and went right through, burying itself in the floor.

All three of them looked at the gaping hole where part of Michael's chest had been just a second before. Slowly, a smile crept upon the intruder's face, and he started to laugh earnestly.

"Aiming for the heart? You think I'm a vampire?" he said, sounding highly amused.

Seras loaded another shell, and aimed again; this time she was going for the head.

If she could spot him. Which she couldn't. The lower floor was now only occupied by the Angel of Death.

She sensed movement behind her, and started to turn around, just as Walter shouted "Miss Victoria, look out!" It was too late. Michael's powerful grip closed upon her neck.

"No sudden moves, Walter, or I'll end her un-life!" called Michael, his chest and right arm somehow complete again. He then looked back at Seras, who was trying to free herself, but to no avail; his hand was vice-like on her throat.

He narrowed his eyes, and then grinned triumphantly. "You're his fledgling. Well, this makes matters more straightforward. Lead me to him."

"Never" she answered.

Michael swiveled to the side, pining Seras against the wall. "Are you willing to die for your Master?"

"Yes" she whispered, without hesitation. Michael's grin turned into a leer. He reached into his suit, extracted a silver dagger and pressed it against Seras neck, his face twisted with malice. Seras gasped in pain when the dagger touched her skin, and a thin wisp of smoke began to issue from the area.

"Such loyalty… or is it love?" He chuckled sinisterly. "You're just a toy for him, to be disposed of when he gets bored. Believe me, I've seen him do it, and it's never pretty." He removed the blade from her throat, and placed the tip of the dagger on her chest. "Should I kill you now, and spare you the pain of a literally broken heart?"

Seras said nothing, but brought her knee up and struck Michael in jaw. He responded by tightening his grip to the point of nearly snapping her neck, while the hand holding the dagger put his jaw back in place.

"Loyal to your Master like a dog, eh? So be it," he said, and brought the dagger down, aiming at her heart. It was a killing blow, or it would have been, had not his left hand exploded in what seemed like a million pieces of flesh and bone, after a single shot was heard.

Both Michael and Seras looked to the right: there stood Alucard, his Jackal aimed at the attacker and his eyes filled with pure hatred. Even though she was still in Michael's grasp, Seras felt completely safe: her Master was here.

"Release the Police Girl," growled Alucard, his gun level with the intruder's head.

"Now, where are your manners?" spoke Michael, as his hand began to repair itself. "You forgot to say please. Catch!" he said suddenly, throwing Seras over the rail and to the floor below.

In the blink of an eye, Alucard had "ghosted" through the floor and reappeared below Seras, catching her before she touched the ground. In spite of all that was happening, Seras still blushed when she found herself in such close proximity to her Master.

This momentary reprieve was short-lived, however, as Michael had jumped from the upper floor, breaking a few tiles with his landing.

Alucard helped his fledgling stand up, while sending her a message via their mental link.

"_Get behind Walter, and stay there."_

"_But, Master…"_

"_I'm ordering you, Police Girl!"_

He then looked at the butler, who nodded almost imperceptibly, and stepped forwards to shield Seras.

"Why are you here?" he growled at Michael.

"You mean besides my wish to beat you to a bloody pulp for what happened last time?" He shrugged. "No reason."

Michael started to circle around Alucard.

"I've spent all these years imagining how our "battle" would be, and frankly, I'm disappointed." He smirked at Seras. "I see you've gotten yourself a new bride. I do hope you've been treating her better than the other twenty-something you had during our campaign in Romania."

Alucard grinned maniacally. "Two centuries you have been chasing me? You do know how to hold a grudge," he said mockingly.

"Considering what you did to me, my family, and my followers, I'd say I have the right to still be royally pissed off."

These words managed to make Alucard's grin wither and die, an impressive feat for anyone. The vampire's eyes were now devoid of anger, and his face betrayed a flicker of what seemed like… guilt?


	3. Integra?

A/N: Okay, I'm back from the dead, but my dog isn't, may he rest in peace. I give thanks to kylemoor for acting as my beta reader.

* * *

White electricity snaked around Michael's arm, coiling and twisting as if it were alive. His gaze was moving from Alucard, to Walter, to Seras, and back again. Time seemed to slow down as he continued to circle the trio.

"So, who's it going to be?" he said, the malicious leer on his face again. "Your bride seemed pretty eager to sacrifice herself for you, so why not let her step forward?"

A low growl escaped from Alucard's lips as he whipped out his Casull from its holster and laid a veritable wall of bullets in Michael's direction, but they never reached him, for, with a wave of his arm and a flash of light, he vanished. The group tensed, expecting an attack, but not even Alucard knew where the intruder was going to strike from. And then, it happened.

Michael's hand burst through Alucard's chest and retracted, holding the vampire's heart between his fingers. Walter whirled around, his wires flying towards Michael, but he had disappeared again, and the deadly instruments closed around thin air.

"Master!" cried Seras, and she sprinted to Alucard's side, but he shoved her backwards.

"Stay out of this, Police Girl. He's not what you're used to dealing with", he panted, as the hole in his chest regenerated.

"You know, I always thought you truly didn't have a heart," called Michael's disembodied voice, "but the fact that I have it in my hand proves me wrong, doesn't it?"

"You might have cheated death," he continued, appearing momentarily in front of Alucard and vanishing again, "and you might have slaughtered millions, but you will always, _always_…"

"…be weaker than me", he finished, now whispering directly into the vampire's ear. Instantly, Alucard jammed the Jackal under Michael's chin, and fired. The result was a shower of blood that drenched the four of them, accompanied by bits of bone and grey matter. The now-headless body merely stuck his hands into the pockets of his torn suit, and started to circle the group again.

The disembodied voice came again. "Guns are useless, and you can surely do better than that. So why are you refusing to actually fight me?"

Michael had just expressed both Seras' and Walter's thoughts aloud: Alucard could tear the intruder to shreds with ease, and yet he wasn't trying to even defend himself. What had really happened between the pair?

Slowly but surely, Michael's head began to rebuild itself: first bone, then muscle, and finally skin. Once his green eyes had reappeared as well, he stopped in front of Alucard and glared at him.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" He stretched his arms wide. "You already tried to kill me once, why not try again? Or do you need a little incentive?"

Five shots rang out and five bullets found their mark, obliterating most of Michael's newly regenerated face. This time, caught off guard, the intruder collapsed to the floor, if only momentarily.

The group once again looked up, and saw Sir Integra Hellsing on the upper floor, a smoking gun in her hand and a satisfied smirk on her face.

Michael groaned, and waved at her with fake cheerfulness. "Hi. Let's fast-forward through the introductions, shall we? I'm Michael," he said, pointing at himself, "and I guess that thing," he pointed at Alucard, "is your pet. I'm trying to kill him, and you want to stop me, but if you just step out of the way and order your men to stand down, this whole thing will move much more smoothly."

The comment earned him another bullet hole, this time right between the eyes. Michael tilted what remained of his head to the side and grinned.

"Fine. Be difficult," he said, and opened his fist. The electricity around his arm pulsed, and five tendrils seemingly made out of light extended from the tips of his fingers. With a vague air of a conductor directing an opera, he flourished his hand and the five tendrils shot to the upper floor. They wrapped themselves around Integra, one on each limb and the fifth on her neck. Time seemed to freeze as the tentacles pulsed once again, and the knight gasped in pain, her back arched, as if trying to fight off something. As Integra writhed in pain, Michael, whose face had regrown for the third time, appeared to be getting paler and paler.

Walter was the first to react, trying to sever to sever the connection with his wires, but they passed through the tendrils as if they were unsubstantial. Alucard emptied both guns on the attacker, but to no avail: they were all deflected by an unseen force, as if the air around Michael had turned solid. Not one to give up easily, Alucard "ghosted" behind Integra, wrapped his arms around her and pulled, and the tendrils finally snapped. Michael collapsed, and so would have Integra, had she not been held upright by her vampire servant.

While Alucard shook his master softly, in an attempt to wake her up, Walter walked to Michael and checked for a pulse. He didn't find one.

Integra opened her blue eyes slowly, and found herself staring directly into Alucard's blood-red ones.

"Let go of me, Alucard," she ordered, her voice weak. The vampire obeyed, reluctantly. Walter immediately rushed up the stair to help her, but Integra declined his aid too, instead relying on the handrail for support. She closed her eyes again, and worry spread across both of her servants' faces.

Walter stepped closer to her. "Sir Integra, are you okay?" he asked softly, preoccupied for the health of the last Hellsing descendant.

A wide grin spread along Integra's face, and she looked at the aged butler directly in the eyes. Walter recoiled, as he had realized something was terribly wrong: Integra's eyes had switched from blue to green. The exact same shade of green as Michael's.

"You know something, Walter? I think I'm on cloud nine," she said, and jumped onto the handrail, sliding down it before the butler had time to do anything else than blink in surprise.

She landed on the floor gracefully, and stretched like a cat.

"It's been a while since I did this," she yawned. "I was beginning to think I'd gotten it wrong." Although Integra's voice was still her own, Michael's mannerisms and tone of voice were unmistakable.

"She did put up a fight, though," she continued. "She still _is_ putting up a fight, but not winning. You should hear the number of expletives she's using. It's amazing!"

Her hand slid to the gun holster, and, quick as lightning, drew the weapon and aimed it, not at Alucard or Walter, but at her own head.

"Well, here's your incentive," she said while cocking back the hammer, a sadistic grin upon her face. "Make a move, or your precious little master dies."

Both Alucard and Walter remained rooted to the spot, apparently at loss of what to do.

Integra raised an eyebrow, and her grin widened. "No daring attempts to save dear Integra?" She shrugged. "Fine by me," she said, and slowly began to pull the trigger.

A single shot reverberated through the mansion.


	4. Invitation

Now, something I should have done in the first chapter...

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Alucard, Integra, Walter, Seras or any of the characters in Hellsing, for that matter. I do own Michael, though.

Also, Contest Time! A new bad guy is coming up, and I'm giving it away! By that I mean that if you'd like to be in the story, or give a friend of yours a surprise, just send me a description (whatever you want included: eye color, hair color, glasses, etc.) and done, you're in.

* * *

A single nine-millimeter cartridge was expelled from the gun, and the sound of it hitting the floor seemed to be magnified a thousand times by the sudden silence inside the mansion.

Then came the crash of broken glass, and the steady noise of blood dripping on the floor. A small pool of scarlet formed around their feet, the blood flowing freely from the hole in Seras' hand, having been pierced by the bullet as she pulled the gun away from Integra's head.

The knight whirled around trying to fire at Seras, but the gun was quickly crushed to pieces. The sight of her own blood had triggered a change in Seras, and her eyes changed from light blue to bright red.

She swung a powerful punch at Integra, who ducked just in time and rolled to the side. Seras continued her rage-fueled attack against the knight, who dodged each and every one of her hits.

"Hey, miss psycho," taunted Integra. "Is that all you got?"

She moved with inhuman precision, and soon started countering with blows of her own which, though not nearly as powerful as Seras', still managed to make the draculina flinch in pain.

Suddenly, a cell phone rang from inside Michael's jacket pocket. Integra unsheathed her rapier and slashed at Seras, who narrowly avoided it. Using the distraction, Integra slid a hand into Michael's pocket, grabbing the cell phone and snapping it open, while keeping the draculina at bay with her sword.

"Yeah, who is it?" she asked. "Oh hi, John. Yes, John, it's me. Do me a favor and don't ask," she told the caller. "Now, is it really urgent? 'Cause I'm in the middle of something right now." As if to punctuate her statement, Seras threw a punch with enough strength to decapitate her. It didn't even get close: Alucard had appeared between them and had stopped the hit before it could reach Integra.

Seras snapped back to her senses, and her eyes turned blue again. She was momentarily dumbfounded, until she remembered what had happened.

"Okay, John, I'll meet you there, but if this turns out to be a false lead I'll make sure you can park in the handicapped spot," threatened Integra, discarding the cell phone. "A damn shame," she commented, and stabbed Alucard with the rapier, "I was starting to have fun." The blade sunk to the hilt, its tip stopping a mere inch from Seras' nose. Alucard just watched as the tendrils appeared again, this time flowing out of Integra's hands and into Michael's body.

While Integra collapsed once more on Alucard's arms, Michael got up and dusted himself off. "I'll come back when I'm less busy,. You know how messy my job can get," he said. The electricity snaking around his arm solidified, forming a white gauntlet. With surprising nonchalance, the intruder plunged his hand into a wall, reducing it to turned to rubble, and allowing him to exit the manor.

Before departing however, Michael looked back at Alucard, and said, "By the way, you might want to check out Liverpool. There's a Hell of a party going on." And with that he left, whistling cheerfully as he vanished from view. Walter and Seras looked at each other, unanswered questions floating in the silence.

Alucard grinned as he carried an unconscious Integra to her office. It was not one of his usual psychotic smiles, but a grim one, and his eyes darkened slightly when memories from a time past emerged to the surface again.


	5. Reminiscence

A/N: Let's start this with a...

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Hellsing, anything related to Hellsing or anything that is already owned by another person. So there.

Thanks to everyone that reviewed, and I hope more people will follow their example and leave a review.

I'd like to comment that this chapter begins what I like to call the "Liverpool arc" so expect action, gore, and a BOSS FIGHT!

Also, if you haven't realized it yet, it's flashback time! (There's a certain sentence that might be considered a spoiler, so it will be in **BOLD **letters. Read at your own risk.)

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_He was surrounded… Unarmed…_

_His companions lay dead around him, having perished trying to defend their master…_

_The ground shook beneath him, and the galloping became slower as his attackers prepared to deal the final blow…_

_He wanted to kill them, but he was famished, weak… And the sunlight on his skin burned like fire…_

_He saw one of them ready his bow. Cowards, he thought as he closed his eyes, not even brave enough to finish him by sword…_

_An arrow flew through the air, fired not from the attacker's bow, but from a great distance. It struck the man aiming the weapon, throwing him off his horse. As soon as the man hit the ground, dead, a loud war cry was heard, and countless more arrows rained on the attackers, who barely had time to raise their shields and defend themselves._

_The newcomers were on foot, but seemed far more organized and prepared than the original attackers. One man stood out: unlike the others, his head was bare, and he brandished a large sword with ease. The man single-handedly defeated three attackers, an impressive feat considering his enemies were riding horseback. He broke through the attackers' ranks and reached Alucard, who was temporarily forgotten by his aggressors._

_"Deplorable manners, these men. Fighting an enemy that has no weapon?" he said to him, casually dispatching another attacker with a single slash of his sword._

_Alucard was surprised. An Englishman… An Englishman had saved him? Didn't the man know who he was?_

_"Then again, you don't find many bounty hunters with even a little bit of decency," the man continued. He unsheathed another sword, and tossed it to Alucard, who caught it deftly._

_"Let's give them hell, shall we, Prince?" he said as he gripped his own blade a little tighter._

_So his newfound ally did know who he was, thought Alucard, while parrying a blow from a horseman and countering with one of his own. The man fell off his mount, blood spurting from the wound on his chest. Almost caressingly, Alucard licked off the gore that coated his weapon, and immediately felt the strength returning to him._

_"Yes," the vampire said, a grin spreading across his face. "Let's do so."_

_The rest of the attackers realized that the two men in their midst belonged to the enemy, and, decimated and scattered as they were, decided to concentrate all attacks on the pair: at the very least, they would take the lives of both their target and the apparent leader of the newcomers. They were sorely mistaken._

_Alucard turned to face his ally, and extended his hand; manners were always a must, even in the middle of a battle._

**_"Vlad, the third," he introduced himself, even though the man already knew, or seemed to know, his identity._**

_"Michael," said his companion, and they shook hands._

_They settled back-to-back as the remaining horsemen surrounded them, the noise of hooves adding to the already chaotic din. Arrows flew over their heads, while the horsemen (the few not busy fighting Michael's comrades) raised their weapons, ready to attack the pair…_

"Alucard!" shouted Integra, snapping the vampire out of his reverie.

He was leaning against a wall in Integra's office, facing the knight. The whirring of electrical tools and the banging of hammers could be heard coming from outside: the builders, already used to working on short notice, had begun repairing the damage done to the mansion.

"Yes, Master?" asked Alucard, eager to get through the debriefing as fast as possible.

"I require some explanations, beginning with who, and what, was the being that attacked us," said Integra, eyeing her servant. Alucard often looked as if he was not paying attention, but that was merely a charade: the vampire was always listening. For him to be completely distracted…

Alucard was spared from answering by a knock on the door.

"Come in," said Integra, more than slightly irked at the interruption.

The door opened, and Walter stepped into the office, bearing a silver tray. On top of it were a steaming cup of tea and a folder, which Integra instantly recognized as an assistance request from another branch of the military.

She opened the folder with one hand while stirring the tea with the other. The request came from the SAS.

As Integra read on, her already foul mood turned considerably worse, and she took a couple of sips from her tea to calm down. According to the file, the Pier Head, a section of Liverpool usually teeming with activity, had ceased communications abruptly, and the satellite photos showed nothing but empty streets and buildings, as if everyone there had simply vanished. Several teams, both from the regular police and the SAS, had been sent in, but they had lost communication as soon as they ventured into Pier Head.

"Walter, tell the pilot to ready the helicopter," she said, rubbing her eyes tiredly. As the butler left the room, she reached for one of her cigars and her lighter. It was going to be a long day.

"Alucard, get yourself and Seras ready. You're leaving in five minutes," she ordered.

The vampire "ghosted" through the wall, uncharacteristically silent.

Integra sighed, leaning back on her chair. She could not recall when or where, but she couldn't shake the feeling that she had met, or at least seen, that white-haired man before.

She lit her cigar, and took a long drag. Indeed, it was going to be a really long day.


End file.
